Midnight in the House of Good and Evil
by Wild Magelet
Summary: On the surface, Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks don't seem to have much in common. But then, on the surface, number twelve Grimmauld Place is the least romantic location in London. In an unlikely setting begins an unlikely romance.
1. Part I

_**Disclaimer:**_ Almost all characters, spells and places belong to J.K. Rowling. Or to the people of Britain. And I've never actually read John Berendt's book _Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil_, but I'm shamelessly ripping off his title anyway.

**_ A/N: _**Written after the Stump the Writer meme on Livejournal, for Lady Bracknell, who requested Remus and Tonks's first date, and Gilpin, who wanted Tonks's first attraction to Remus.

MrsTater recently proposed a theory on her LJ about the form of Tonks's Patronus, which sounded very plausible and so is included here. :)

* * *

If a tree falls in the middle of the forest and there is no one there to hear it, does it still make a sound? And if an illicit gobstone hits the floor during a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, is the resulting noise twice as loud as if it had been dropped in an otherwise deserted room? Grimacing, Tonks kept her eyes on her lap as she reached down and groped for the two broken halves. A good quantity of rather pungent liquid had spilled from the broken toy onto the floor and she surreptitiously scuffed at the mess with her booted foot, a move which, except to transfer the strange smell to her person, achieved nothing whatsoever. Risking a glance around the table, she half-expected to encounter looks of motherly disapproval from Molly, wicked amusement from Sirius and glaring dislike from Snape, but was relieved to see that her small mishap had apparently passed unnoticed for once. Hestia Jones was still reading her monthly report as if she was being paid by the hour to stand there, her breathy voice stopping and starting in lengthy pauses. Tonks hadn't yet decided if she was aiming for dramatic effect or simply couldn't read her own handwriting. If it was the latter, she thought glumly, eyeing her own untidy notes, scratched onto a stack of multi-coloured cards, then she could sympathise.

Outside the grimy window, the sun was sharing her restlessness and she put up a hand to shield her face as it shifted positions for the umpteenth time that hour and beamed directly into her eyes. Squinting, she cast a look at Molly, who was still sitting upright in her chair, smiling at Hestia and nodding every so often. Precisely every ten seconds, in fact. Tonks followed her gaze, which traveled over Hestia's complicated hair-do and was fixed on the wall clock. Sirius, slumped in his chair, cleaning under his fingernails with an antique dagger, was not even pretending that he was still listening. Beside him, Dumbledore sat with his eyes closed and his fingertips pressed in a steeple before his nose, either absorbed in the rambling report or fast asleep. Snape was impatiently tapping his nails on the table and watching Hestia with a tiny smile. Tonks raised a brow. She'd seen that particular expression many times before and usually on the face of a Weasley twin, right before the subject of their attention found themselves turning lime green, standing on their head and singing the full chorus of _Witches and Veela _or confessing their most intimate desires to an interested audience. For five guilty seconds, she couldn't help hoping that Snape would have the nerve to carry out whatever dastardly deed was causing him such private amusement.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, as always, looked as if he had places to go and people to see. Despite having a great deal more to say than Hestia, he'd already delivered his own report in five minutes flat and was now the epitome of frustrated action. In stark comparison, both Bill and Charlie Weasley looked lazy, bored and hungry. Bill was leaning back in his chair at a precarious angle that left Tonks in admiring awe. Last month, she'd tumbled to the ground after merely sitting down too quickly. His heavy dragon-skin boots had been propped on the table for the first five minutes of the meeting, in a daring attitude that had made him seem impossibly cool until his mother had entered the room, taken one look and given him a lecture on manners that had turned his ears red. Charlie was hunched forward, leaning his weight on his elbows and occasionally darting admiring glances her way, which would have been flattering if he didn't seem more turned on by the elevenses laid out on the sideboard. Although, Tonks thought, casting a longing peek at the combined baking efforts of Molly and Hestia, that chocolate sponge did look awfully good…

The sound of Mundungus Fletcher clearing his throat drew her attention back to the assembled group and she wrinkled her nose in mild disgust. The man really needed to see a Healer. That much phlegm couldn't be healthy. Emmaline Vance obviously agreed, as she was currently edging her chair away from the sneak and practically crawling into the lap of a startled Arabella Figg.

Dung's other neighbour didn't seem particularly bothered by the gurgling gargle at his left ear. With his usual calm reserve, Remus Lupin was politely dividing his attention between Hestia, who thankfully seemed to be winding down a tad, and a neatly inscribed scroll of notes. He was to speak next and, judging by the small smile that played at his mouth, he obviously had something of more interest to report than the question of whether Death Eaters were running an illegal Dark potions ring at Fortescue's. (After half an hour of Hestia's deductions, it appeared that they were not. A Lucius Malfoy look-alike was just fond of mint chip.) With her mind wandering, Tonks was startled when Remus looked up and met her gaze. His twinkling eyes flickered briefly toward the floor, where she was still attempting to cover a puddle of gobstone goo with her boot, and the curve of his lips deepened. The man rarely seemed to show emotion in his face, but his eyes were the dead giveaway and currently broadcast his amusement with total clarity. Even after his attention returned to his work, she was cross to feel a flush heating her cheeks. The discomforting embarrassment of being caught misbehaving took her right back to her school days and the hours she'd spent seated outside a professor's office. She wriggled in her seat and joined Molly in her subtle watching of the clock.

The remainder of the meeting passed surprisingly quickly, either as a result of their combined will power or because of Remus's report, which had been surprisingly gripping. He had a nice voice, Tonks decided, for such a condescendingly amused git. It was a bit quiet and very steady. It would be a good voice to have around in times of crisis.

Speaking of a crisis…

This was no time for buggering about daydreaming. Even if the last fifteen minutes had been less monotonous and boring than the first two hours, they were still running behind and she was going to be late. She hastily pushed back her chair and stood up, almost tripping over Mrs. Figg, who promptly spilt her glass of brandy and said "Bad girl!" in a tone that would have been more appropriate if Tonks had jumped up to clean her whiskers on the refreshment table. Barely resisting the temptation to morph a tail and meow in response, she apologised instead and made a beeline for the door, purposefully fixing her gaze straight ahead in the hopes of avoiding…

"Where's the fire, coz?" Sirius casually snagged a hold on her sleeve and halted her determined march toward a hopefully prat-free evening. Although given her recent luck with men, that was an admittedly doubtful prospect. Only that morning, her caring mother had confirmed the fact in her weekly written report of Tonks's failings as a woman, witch and human being. If she _would_ select partners with more facial hair than career prospects, Andromeda had sniped, she ought to expect disappointment. The post-script had added, horrifically, that there was "more to life than fleeting physical satiation, Nymphadora". That very elegant reference to casual sex was mortifying on many levels. Mostly because she wasn't bloody well getting any, although she was damned if she was going to admit that to her mother.

Turning around reluctantly, she pulled a face at the man who apparently viewed her as a surrogate baby sister, ripe for torment. Sirius grinned easily back, the dagger in his hand now picking at his large, even teeth. He was unkempt and unshaven, his long hair tangled and his black robes wrinkled, and he didn't appear to have slept or washed for a couple of days. She moved aside as Snape swept out of the room, his robes whipping about his legs, doing his best to ignore the dirty joke that Dung was valiantly attempting to finish. The disheveled, unwashed look was popular with the blokes in the Order, it seemed. It wasn't so much his appearance that made Sirius the centre of any room, Tonks decided with a tinge of envy. He just…had it. There was a quality that had kept members of the Black family in the company, trust and beds of history's most powerful leaders. That, and total ruthlessness and borderline insanity.

Sirius tossed the dagger aside and it slid across the table, where Remus paused in his perusal of the meeting minutes to calmly pick it up and place it on the mantelpiece. Flicking them a brief glance, he cleared his throat and returned to the scroll. Sirius, after watching him with an oddly intent stare for a moment, suddenly returned the full force of his attention to Tonks. He surveyed her casual clothing as he dug around in his pocket, produced a worn cigar and propped it between his lips.

"Have a shift tonight, do you?" he asked nonchalantly, lighting the cheroot from his wand and blowing a mouthful of smoke over her left shoulder. "What's that, the third night shift this week? Thought they were supposed to take it easy on you littlies." He tugged painfully on a pink spike of her hair. "Catch up with Shacklebolt and tell him you're feeling a bit peaky after the Figg's baking. Moony and I are staking out the kitchen table and Molly's secret supply of firewhiskey." He winked cheekily. "We're worth a lot more thrills than a cold night and a few Death Eaters, kid."

Tonks reached out and yanked the cheroot from his teeth, stubbing it out against the sole of her boot.

"Those things will kill you," she said crossly, ignoring both his suggestion and his crack of laughter, "and they smell like cat piss. You've already got Snape's hair, mate, do you want him to think you've stolen his cologne, as well?"

She thought she heard a snort from the other side of the table, but kept her eyes on Sirius, who looked to be torn between irritation and dark amusement.

"Couple of old women, you two," he said impatiently. "Dementor fog, that's something to get worked up about. I reckon a bit of cigar smoke is the least of my worries." He glanced thoughtfully at Remus, who was _still_ reading the bloody minutes. What a swot. "Moony's at least got the grey hair. What's your excuse?" He didn't wait for her to answer, but went on, speaking intently, "What do you say? Flip old Scrimgeour the bird for once and take the night off."

Tonks eyed him a little suspiciously, arching one candy-coloured brow. There was a slightly feverish glint to his beseeching stare and the last time she'd seen him look so keen, he'd been holding a bottle of grappa in one hand and a lad's mag in the other.

"It's always a laugh drinking you under the table, Sirius, but I'm going to have to give it a miss tonight," she said, trying to sound more regretful as she glanced at her watch and cursed aloud. The very attractive new dishwasher at the Hog's Head would be waiting for her outside the pub in half an hour. She'd met him the previous week, after stopping by to deliver a message to Aberforth, and he'd invited her to have a drink on her next night off. She'd wasted no time with her agreement. After all, he'd talked to her for over half an hour during a busy shift, so who knew how long he'd be working there? "Ta, anyway."

"Choosing an evening of paperwork and good deeds over drunken, lewd behaviour," Sirius said, shaking his head in disgust. "What kind of Black are you? Call in sick."

"I'm not working until tomorrow morning," Tonks corrected him absently, glancing down at her ripped jeans. It was probably too late to go home and change. She'd have to transfigure something a bit more decent, which was always risky. The last time she'd worn a transfigured gown had been at her parents' anniversary party. The slightly lopsided dress had turned back into her nightie in the middle of her dance with a delighted Derwent Shimpling, to the horror of her less than amused mother.

"Well, then…" Sirius began triumphantly, and Remus finally shuffled his papers together and came around the table to join the battle of wills at the doorway.

"Sirius, Tonks is a lovely young woman," he said mildly, offering her a quick, impersonal smile as she blinked in surprise. "I'm sure she has plans for her night off that do not include watching a grown man remove his trousers and pass out in a pool of whisky."

_Well, certainly not the latter, anyway…_

Tonks bit back a grin and focused on Sirius's surprisingly outraged expression.

"Nymphadora," he said tightly, and couldn't have sounded more like their Great-Auntie Cassiopeia if he'd tried. "Do you have a date?" The last was uttered with the same enthusiasm that Sirius usually reserved for Snape.

She lost the inclination to smile.

"Try not to sound quite so gobsmacked," she snapped, scowling at him. "I didn't shag half the school and staff when I was at Hogwarts, which is more than can be said for some people, but I have had the occasional date since then."

Sirius opened to his mouth to reply, looking unaccountably annoyed for someone who was revoltingly proud of his sexual conquests, and Remus stepped forward hastily.

"The meeting was rather long," he said quietly, shooting his friend a quelling glance. A tight smile briefly flickered at the corners of his mouth. "I believe Hestia has a new theory about Dark operations at Ollivander's, so it might be wise to avoid scheduling a date with this chap of yours on the night of the next debrief."

Tonks winced slightly. Remus had always seemed like a decent bloke, but their acquaintance had thus far consisted of a short argument over his use of the dreaded 'Nymphadora', several conversations about Order business and two evenings of shared company with Sirius and the contents of Orion Black's liquor cabinet, neither of which she could remember in great detail. His last comment, uttered with nothing but bland politeness, was proof enough that they didn't know each other well.

The prospects of her having the same boyfriend for two consecutive months had never been brilliant. The other women at work couldn't understand her romantic history, which was spotty at best. Drea, another young Auror, claimed that if she had the ability to inflate her boobs and reduce her waistline at the scrunch of a nose, she'd ditch her boyfriend and take a swan-dive between Heathcote Barbary's sheets in two seconds flat. Which was rubbish, because Drea adored her snub-nosed, freckle-cheeked Andy, a clerk in Fudge's office, but she wasn't alone in her teasing envy. The main problem, however, was not Tonks's breasts, which she hadn't altered since she was fourteen, or her waistline, which was as curvy as chocolate had made it. It was her left foot. Both of them.

If she lost half of her brain cells and all of her self-respect, it was true that she could morph Veela hair, strip-witch legs and a chest worthy of Celestina Warbeck. And perhaps it would offer some consolation to her dates if they were kneed in the groin by a shapelier leg or accidentally scratched in the face by a manicured hand, but Tonks hardly thought so. Adding natural – or perhaps unnatural, given her mother's flawless elegance – clumsiness to the fact that the only men she tended to attract with her favoured bright hair and ripped jeans were musicians, artists and bar staff not known for their commitment, maturity or table manners, it wasn't overly surprising that her longest relationship thus far was with the pile of dishes in her kitchen sink. Which she would really have to pay a visit during the weekend or she'd never want to move back into her flat when the current surveillance roster was over.

"We won't keep you, Tonks. I'm sure you want to freshen up before you leave," Remus was continuing, his voice rising over Sirius's protests. "Not that you don't look...fresh," he added quickly, looking a little awkward for the first time. The arches of his cheekbones pinked as Sirius snorted rudely.

Tonks fidgeted under Remus's regard, suddenly feeling as if her hair was too pink, her jeans too tight and the slogan on her t-shirt much too vulgar. A flash of temper stirred in the pit of her belly, although she wasn't sure if she was angry with him for making her uncomfortable in her chosen skin or with herself. She wasn't usually in the least self-conscious about her appearance. Why should she be, when it was a perfect reflection of personality rather than genetics?

"Right. Well," she said, fisting her hand into the material of her shirt and tugging at it. "I do have to go. If you're still conscious and clothed when I get home," she told Sirius, injecting a mocking note into her voice that did nothing to lighten the mulish look on his face, "I might join you in the kitchen."

"Unless you're home within an hour," Remus said, smiling and fully returned to his usual imperturbable self, "I wouldn't count on it."

Folding her arms across her middle, she looked at the two of them for a moment, staunch friends despite their mutual badgering and obvious differences. Sirius was tall and strikingly handsome, a moody, obsessive, overgrown teenager. The years that had been stolen from him were partly to blame, but Tonks suspected that, Azkaban or no Azkaban, her cousin would always have been the sort of man to keep one foot in his youthful days. On her first day in the Order, he had naturally drawn her attention and wouldn't have allowed it any other way. From what she recalled, Remus had been very proper, a bit of a gentleman. He'd kept his distance and she had been too eager to make a good impression and too embarrassed over her runaway mouth to take much note of anyone but her infamous relative. Later, he had called her 'Nymphadora' and she'd been instinctive in her protest. He'd remarked that it was a delightful name; she'd decided that he was pulling her leg, and they hadn't spoken again for at least a week.

Tonks remembered his silent amusement at her expense during the meeting and her eyes narrowed. For some reason, she was never wholly comfortable around Remus. She suspected that were she to make the effort to befriend him, he could be more provoking than even Sirius in one of his moods. She had always been able to ignore or counter barbed comments and open attack. It was basic survival training for even an estranged and reluctant member of the Black family. It was the coolly sarcastic people, the frustratingly calm people, who really got her back up. Snape often rubbed her the wrong way with his sly little remarks and blank face. Remus wasn't vicious, but he had the same impenetrable quality. He wasn't really good-looking either, she decided, peeking at him now, but he had a nice face. It was quiet, like his voice, and a bit nondescript, which was how she felt about her own features. While she wore her emotions in her hair and on her body, however, his personality was all in his eyes.

Deep, rather compelling eyes, which were beginning to cloud with the hint of a frown.

Because she was staring at him like Trelawney in one of her sherry-induced trances.

With a start, she pulled her gaze away and took a step back, completely flustered.

"Sorry," she said, without thinking and with no idea for what she was apologizing. "Yes, I have to get ready. I might see you both later. Or tomorrow. I'll probably see you tomorrow."

Waving half-heartedly, she turned and almost sprinted for the staircase, ignoring the strange feeling that a night before the fire in one of the creepiest houses in England might be a more attractive prospect than dyed blue hair, stubble and dishwater hands.

* * *

It was just past midnight when Tonks let herself back into the house, renewed her acquaintance with the coat stand, picked herself up off the floor and covered a loud yawn with her hand. She'd been battling drooping eyes for the last hour and had almost fallen asleep into her cocktail at the bar, but after the journey home, she'd reached the state of exhaustion where she was too tired to get ready for bed. Eyeing the staircase blearily, she tried to imagine climbing it, yawned again and headed for the library instead. If someone had been sitting in there during the evening, the fire tended to last until the small hours and the room was one of the only ones in the house that actually held onto its heat. She could just curl up on the couch and have a kip before her morning shift.

The library was dimly lit, but the flames in the fireplace and a soft lamp on the coffee table provided a comforting glow. She was so intent on the couch, which was covered with one of Molly's knitting projects and looked very welcoming, that she was halfway across the room before she realised that the wing chair by the hearth was occupied.

"Oh," she said stupidly, coming to a halt and hoping that she didn't sound as dismayed as she felt. Company meant conversation, if she was going to be at all polite, and all she wanted was sleep. A snogging dream about the Weird Sisters might be nice, too, if she were really lucky. "Sorry. I didn't realise there was still someone in here. I'll leave you to it."

"Don't be silly, Tonks," Remus said, carefully folding his newspaper and setting it aside. He pressed his hands against the arms of the chair and made a move to stand. "Please, stay. I was just about to go to bed."

His face was cast into shadow and Tonks couldn't read his expression, but his voice sounded alert and there was a half-full glass of red liquid on the table beside his chair, absorbing the firelight. She peered at him doubtfully as she made her way to the couch and plopped down on it with a relieved sigh, working off her boots and quickly tucking her feet beneath her in case they smelled less than fresh. The alluring scent of cigarette smoke and bar grime that clung to her clothing was charming enough.

"No, don't go," she said quickly, not wanting to force him out. It was more his home than it was hers, anyway. "You haven't finished your drink." She frowned. "Tomato juice?"

Remus hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the door, before he settled slowly back into his chair.

"Amongst other things," he replied, a note of humour touching the words. "A Weasley family recipe, I'm given to understand. It works a treat after a slight over-indulgence."

"I hope you didn't receive that information courtesy of Fred and George." Tonks raised her eyebrows at him. "Should I prepare a portkey to St. Mungo's?"

Remus laughed.

"I learnt that particular lesson after tasting my first Canary Cream," he said, shifting in his seat and stretching his legs out toward the fireplace. "I believe the twins were twelve years old at the time. I'd met Arthur at the Ministry and he invited me to the Burrow for a very memorable dinner. He's also responsible for this rather revolting, but very potent concoction."

"I take it that Sirius managed to stay upright for longer than an hour, then?" Tonks asked, resting her chin on her hand and smiling at him. She suddenly felt a bit more awake. "If such desperate measures were called for?"

"I think fifty minutes passed between his discovery that Molly also has a stock of brandy, for her cooking, I'm sure," Remus added smoothly, "and the moment that his head descended onto a plate of cheese sandwiches." He grinned at her, looking a little sheepish. "I'm afraid I slowly finished off the bottle while I meditated on how appalled I was."

"Where is Sirius now?" Tonks asked, amused. "Still in the kitchen?"

"Certainly not," Remus said, turning an affronted face towards the light and making her giggle. "What kind of friend do you suppose I am? I levitated him upstairs, of course."

"To bed?"

"I'm afraid my wand hand was starting to feel a little tired," he said apologetically, his eyes twinkling at her. "I didn't want to drop him, so I set him down gently outside Molly's bedroom door. She's helping Dumbledore with an assignment tomorrow, so is staying here tonight and will no doubt discover him in the morning. If I recall correctly from Arthur's birthday party, she does quite an impressive lecture on the evils of intoxication. A few motherly words will do Sirius the world of good."

Tonks was snorting with laughter.

"With friends like you, Remus Lupin…"

"Sirius will still manage to charm his way out of every sticky situation," Remus finished for her, shaking his head. He took a swallow of the hangover potion without a wince. Tonks knew from experience that most of them tasted like cauldron scrapings, but she supposed that a man who could remain staunch through a regular supply of Wolfsbane was not likely to scrunch up his nose at a home remedy. "It never ceases to amaze me," he went on, putting down the drained glass and looking a little brighter for it, "the miracles he can work with a smile and a stream of absolute drivel. I once saw Madam Pince transformed from an upright stick of disapproval into a puddle of simpering confusion at his feet."

Tonks wrapped her arms around her knees and leaned forward, watching him with fascinated eyes. Her cousin had regaled her with many stories of his exploits at Hogwarts over the previous weeks and Remus had occasionally listened, smiling and inserting the odd word, but she'd never heard his own tales of their Marauder days. She somehow suspected they would be a little closer to the truth.

"What happened?" she asked, trying to imagine Madam Pince falling prey to the Black charm and failing miserably. The school librarian had always given her the willies. She had a nasty habit of creeping about in those tightly pinching shoes and appearing without warning. She had once caught Tonks in the restricted section and had chased her clear to the Great Hall, waving her wand in frenetic circles and screeching about the punishments handed down to naughty girls in the days of the Founders. The sight of pince-nez still chilled Tonks's spine.

"The four of us, Sirius, James, Peter and I, had ventured into the library after dark," Remus was remembering. "James had devised a plan to 'borrow' the Potions textbooks of the sixth year Slytherins, remove the covers and replace them over books from the Transylvanian Collection in the restricted section."

"Those are the ones that bite, yeah?" Tonks interrupted, laughing. She could just imagine teenaged versions of Remus and Sirius, sneaking about the castle and huddling stolen books under their dressing gowns. She wished she'd thought of it when she'd been at school.

"Indeed," he said, grinning at the memory. "The older the edition, the larger the fangs, I recollect. Not the wisest idea that James ever had, but he was quite determined. Several of the Slytherins had been particularly nasty to Lily Evans – Lily Potter – that day and he was furious. Of course, he and Lily hadn't been overly pleasant to each other all week, either, so Peter couldn't understand what he was upset about."

"Oh, but it's totally different if someone _else_ is picking on the person you fancy," Tonks said immediately, nodding. "Either they're messing with someone you care about and nobody with any guts would stand for that, or they're being obnoxious for the same reason that you are and that's just pissing all over your territory." She paused, frowning uncertainly under his gleaming stare. "What?"

"That's _exactly_ what James said," Remus remarked, smiling. "He would have thoroughly approved of you, Nymphadora."

Suffused with a ridiculous blush, she took refuge in a "Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus," that lacked any real bite and continued, hurriedly, "You got caught, obviously?"

After a moment, his eyes still examining her face, Remus shrugged ruefully.

"Yes, we did, thanks to Filch and his mangy companion, who took great pleasure in summoning Madam Pince. I'm afraid we were a little cocky," he admitted, with a hint of arrogance that had Tonks ducking her head to hide a giggle. "We weren't often caught," he finished matter-of-factly.

"And Sirius sweet-talked Madam Pince?" She still found it hard to believe.

"I'm surprised that she didn't offer to complete the prank for him," Remus confirmed dryly. "The woman was damn well giggling. I think Filch was the only person more nauseated by the spectacle than I was."

"But you all got away with it?" Tonks asked, impressed, and spluttered with laughter at the ferocity of his frown.

"Peter scampered at the first hiss from Mrs. Norris, James made very quick use of his Invisibility Cloak and Sirius started cooing and flattering like a secondhand broom salesman."

"And you?" Tonks asked, leaning her head back against the couch, thoroughly entertained.

"I ended up spending eight Saturday mornings in a row dusting between the pages of the Transylvanian Collection."

Her helpless fit of giggling ended in a delighted snort and Remus's eyes were warm on her face. He had turned his chair around in order to see her better and looked comfortable and a bit more disheveled than usual, with his tie hanging loosely around his neck and his hair ruffled across his forehead.

"It must have been fantastic, having a group of friends like that," she said, rubbing underneath her eyes. She knew she'd been popular at school – most kids were easily impressed by morphing – but she'd never had a really close group of friends to count on and lead into trouble.

She was suddenly aware of his silence and her hand froze. _Shite_. What a stupid thing to say about four boys who had been torn apart by distrust, betrayal and death. For all their shared history, Remus had not, in the end, been able to count on that close group. He and Sirius had suspected each other capable of treachery and had lived entirely separate lives for over a decade, James Potter was long dead, and Peter Pettigrew… Bloody hell.

She was shifting awkwardly in her seat and wondering if she was even capable of getting through the next minutes without jamming her foot further down her throat, when Remus breathed out deeply.

"It was," he said simply, his expression only a little cloudy. "It was fantastic. I wouldn't have traded the good days at school for anything. When I first arrived at Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore was the only friend that I had." He flushed and transferred his gaze to his hands. "I was just a lad, of course, and he'd been very kind. We _have _always been friends, I believe, although perhaps not always the close confidantes I imagined at that age. He went above and beyond his duty in getting me to school. I haven't ever forgotten that. But it was when I met the others, first James and then Sirius and Peter, that I felt at home." He shrugged again, smiling. "They were my family. James and Sirius were so bloody cheeky, right off the bat, even when they knew what I was…what I am, that I felt like one of the lads. I would…transform," he paused, clearing his throat and still avoiding her gaze, "and be running wild in the Forbidden Forest, but as long as I had a dog, a stag and a rat running with me, I felt more like a human wizard than I had in years."

Tonks pulled her legs up while he was speaking and stretched herself out on the couch. Turning her head against the padded arm, she gazed at the ceiling and watched as flickering shadows etched patterns and formed shapes against the plaster carvings. Light twinkled on the dusty crystals of the chandelier and the threads of cobweb which hung loose from the light fixture. She couldn't look at him while he said things like that about himself.

"You are a human wizard," she said quietly, and didn't need to be watching him in order to sense his instinctive disagreement.

"Tonks," he said after a moment, clearing his throat. "I… Perhaps we ought to change the subject. I'm afraid I get a bit maudlin when I've had too much to drink." His smile was painfully forced, doing nothing to hide his embarrassment, and Tonks's whole stomach clenched in irritation.

She fixed her gaze on his.

"Do you know, Remus, the first day that I came here, I saw Hestia Jones drop the cup of tea that you handed to her, because she was trying not to touch your fingers." She ignored his slight flinch. "I'd read your dossier and I knew that you were a werewolf. We'd never spoken a word, but I knew that you were my cousin's best mate. I knew that when I was sent to a cottage in Lancashire three times a week last summer, because a dotty old woman reckoned that she had Death Eaters living in her apple orchard, her grandson couldn't stop talking about the best teacher he'd had. I heard all about those Defense classes and what you did for those kids. And when there's so much evil in the world right now, it makes me so angry that there are people who are afraid of you. You're a werewolf, not a monster. You didn't ask to be bitten. You don't use what happened to you as an excuse to punish everybody who you think has it a bit easier."

Remus was regarding her silently, his face utterly blank, and she tried to ignore her growing misgivings. He wasn't her cousin or even a close mate. What did she reckon? That she could ramble off a self-righteous speech that sounded like an excerpt from a soap opera on the Wireless and he would forget about a lifetime of turned backs and dropped tea cups? Even if she did mean every word.

A log dropped in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks, and she jumped.

Bugger it. In for a knut, in for a galleon.

"You're more human than I am," she told him flatly, hoping that her current monologue was not going to evolve into a ridiculous argument over which of them was the greater social misfit. It was a thought that almost made her smile.

"I beg your pardon?" She'd expected anger, but Remus sounded genuinely taken aback. "Tonks, I appreciate the kind sentiment, but…"

Tonks bristled, not appreciating that distinct turn toward condescension.

"Were you born a werewolf?" she asked bluntly, and continued before he had a chance to close his gaping mouth and think of an appropriate response, "No, you bloody well were not. You were born an ordinary little kid. A mouthy little prat, I'm sure, but completely human in spite of that. You're a wizard with a…a condition, but still human, Remus. The lycanthropy doesn't change that fact. It's different in my case. I was born a Metamorphmagus. I've never been a 'normal' witch. I _am_ different, it's a genetic fact."

Colour rose in his cheeks, but she shook her head at his immediate denial. If she had ever considered herself to be 'special' rather than a bit on the odd side, it was a self-confidence that had not survived childhood. At the age of eight, she'd been hiding in her mother's wardrobe, in the hopes of avoiding another dinner party and yet another scratchy lace dress, when she'd found an old Pensieve belonging to her father. She had never forgotten his memory of her birth and the look on her mum's face when she had arrived in the world, pink-faced, screaming blue murder and promptly morphing a head of crimson red hair in her rage. The Healer had actually dropped her in his astonishment, obviously the beginning of a lifetime of spills and mishaps. Her dad had recovered from his surprise in an admirably quick time and had immediately picked her up, gazing down at her with adoring eyes and gently telling her to shut her trap and stop being so dramatic. It was love at first sight, Ted later claimed. Andromeda, the Black sister who possessed all of the social poise of her lineage and very little of its bigotry, had rallied at his matter-of-fact tones, but her initial dismay was forever etched into Tonks's own memory. The beautiful, intelligent, graceful, _pure-blood_ Andromeda had defied enormous odds to produce a Metamorphmagus for a daughter and she wasn't happy about it. Half-bloods and Muggle-borns, even Squibs, were one thing. Popping out a rare magical being, one described at length in the 1648 edition of _Changelings, Pixies and Spirits _with words that included "freak", "aberration" and "dangerous", was something else entirely.

To be fair to her mother, however, Tonks did believe that her brief moment of aristocratic horror had since passed into oblivion. They had an exasperated, but genuine love for one another and their strained adult relationship owed nothing to her morphing and everything to the total clash in their personalities. A gum-chewing, wisecracking, clumsy Auror was a far cry from the sleek, reserved debutante that Andromeda routinely denied she had secretly wanted and that Tonks could never be if she tried. Well, she reckoned her mum had only herself to blame. If she'd wanted a perfect little paragon of manners, she shouldn't have fallen in love with Ted Tonks. Anyone who'd seen her dad try to balance his wand, a bottle of beer and a packet of crisps while he listened to a Magpies match on the Wireless ought to have realised that they weren't married to a finicky prat like Gilderoy Lockhart. One of her mother's ex-boyfriends, incidentally, not that she'd admit it now the bloke was mooning around St. Mungo's.

"This isn't about me feeling for myself," Tonks went on, not entirely truthfully, overriding Remus's argument that she was talking rubbish, that of course she was 'normal', that she ought to share others' pride in her abilities and that morphing was in no way comparable to lycanthropy. She saw him frown at her statement, his head jerking back slightly, and uttered an impatient exclamation. "I'm not saying that you do feel sorry for yourself… Although no one would blame you if you did…" She paused in an attempt to grasp the fleeing remnants of her point. "I know that your transformations are much more painful than mine, that they must be bloody scary and that it's more dangerous. But what happened to you wasn't an accident of birth. It could happen to anyone at any time and people should understand that. Stomping around like that cow, Umbridge, and shouting for stronger persecution laws is just asking for your prejudice to come back and bite you in the arse, isn't it? Literally."

Having apparently missed the excellent logic of her outburst, Remus stubbornly repeated, "Werewolves are classified as Dark Creatures for a very good reason. They attack and they kill indiscriminately. Metamorphmagi are not a danger to those around them, regardless of their genetic composition."

'Genetic composition'? Tonks rolled her eyes. The man was so…so…_scholarly_. And he was starting to get on her nerves. She played with the tassel on the arm of the couch while she glared at him. Exhaustion was beginning to drag the edges of her speech into a slur, but she barely noticed.

"Until fifty years ago, Metamorphmagi were also considered Dark Creatures by the Ministry, did you know that?" she asked, with more than a hint of bite to the question. She barely resisted an extremely childish urge to poke out her tongue and say "So there!" And tonight was the last time she accepted a third round of firewhisky cocktails. "They were a huge problem to defense forces during Grindelwald's reign and caused a panic epidemic among the populace. Nobody could trust the identity of their family and friends. Dark Metamorphmagi were the reason the Minister first instituted daft security questions, as if asking everyone about their favourite sweets or first memories of Hogwarts does more than sod-all. Any half-wit Death Eater would blast you with the Cruciatus Curse before you'd finished speaking."

Remus was smiling faintly now, she realised with annoyance. Closing her lips over her stream of babble – because, really, what was she trying to argue? That she was, in fact, more evil than he, thanks very much? – she hunched further back into her cushions and straightened Molly's knitted quilt over her legs.

"People should take precautions around werewolves at the full moon," she said finally, not looking at him. "But you shouldn't act like it's natural for them to be afraid of you every other day of the month. If _you_ believe that people have the right to treat you like that, then of course _they_ will. I'm not saying that I know exactly what it's like, but there are still people out there, you know, who wouldn't sit down at a dinner table with a Metamorphmagus. I've had people turn their backs and I know how that felt. Most blokes don't exactly find it a turn-off, when they find out what I am and what I can do." She grimaced. _Just the opposite._ "But I did once have a boyfriend who broke things off when I changed my hair colour over dessert and then tried to have me taken into protective custody. He made a right scene, prattling on about unnatural creatures and "taking someone out in good faith". Poor bloke, I thought he was going to cry."

It was a bad date experience that, to be honest, had been so ridiculous that she'd found it a bit of a laugh, but she wasn't going to tell Remus that.

Particularly when he looked absolutely bloody furious.

"I hope you're joking," he said tightly, jerking forward in his chair. She shrugged awkwardly and his mouth compressed to a thin line, before he asked, in tones of disbelief, "He tried to have you taken into protective custody?"

Tonks shifted, feeling more than a little embarrassed and wishing she'd never mentioned it. As an attempt to empathize with him over the serious prejudice that he faced and that had obviously affected his entire way of life, given that he'd lost a job he loved and had to live in the House of Horrors with a man who must be driving him barking mad on a daily basis, the anecdote had fallen rather flat. All it emphasized, in fact, was her totally shite taste in men.

"It wasn't as bad as I made it sound," she said uncomfortably, her eyes skittering away from the angry concern in his. She tried to laugh. "I told him I was going home, ta very much, and offered a few suggestions as to where he could take himself. Then I made a dignified exit." Right up until the moment that she'd tripped over the waiter, who had responded by dropping an ice cream sundae on her lap. That part actually rankled more than her date's less than flattering response to her change of mood and hairstyle. "I should have realised it was a bad idea, anyway. He was a Smith," she explained, correctly interpreting Remus's furrowed brow. "A Yorkshire Smith." Her companion still looked confused. "The Yorkshire Smith family has been campaigning for anti-changeling legislation ever since a Metamorphmagus conned one of their forefathers out of his inheritance in the sixteenth century. They're a load of close-minded, small-brained bigots and I can't imagine what I was thinking of, dating Zeke in the first place." She'd been thinking of his square jaw and dark grey eyes, but was sufficiently ashamed of that shallow attraction that she didn't feel the need to discuss it with anyone else. "I think he has a younger brother at Hogwarts who you might have come across."

She hoped that Remus's brief tenure at the school wasn't an overly sensitive topic. Sirius had teased him about it more than once in her hearing and he had responded lightly enough, but that perpetual cool front could be concealing any number of emotions.

"Zachariah," Remus confirmed grimly. "An arrogant little twit who couldn't throw up a decent shield charm if the Dark Lord himself appeared at his shoulder to offer an incentive. As I recall, rather than practice his own skills, he preferred to spend his time ridiculing the efforts of the other children."

"Not that teachers play favourites or make personal judgments about their students," Tonks teased, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

It worked to some extent or possibly Remus was feeling as uncomfortable as she was with the sudden seriousness, because he relaxed enough to offer her a reluctant smile. He did have a good smile, she noted absently. He was one of those people who would wear happiness well and light up with a proper grin. It was a shame that, when she thought about it, she didn't think she'd ever seen Remus smile properly, just because he was happy. Not even at her first meeting with the Order, when Dung had fallen asleep at the table, his head drifting onto Snape's shoulder and his hands slipping a little lower. Just the thought of the expression on the Potion Master's face and Dung's subsequent squawk as he was hit by a stunning spell made Tonks want to giggle, even now. Sirius had roared with laughter and brought it into conversation for weeks. Remus, she'd realised later, had been so preoccupied with Dumbledore's report of Death Eater activity in the north that he'd barely noticed the commotion. It had made her feel like a silly schoolgirl, tittering over the antics of the popular mischief-maker in the class while the more mature kids learned their spells, passed their exams and knew what to do when the future required action.

"I'm assuming that the Eldogas Smith who wrote _The Changing Lives of Metamorphmagi _in 1956 does not belong to the merry Smiths of York, then?" Remus asked in dry tones, reaching out to pick up the fire poker.

Tonks was absorbed, watching him shift the burning logs and send up another comforting crackle of sparks. When his question finally registered, she began to reply, before pausing and frowning in surprise.

"_The Changing Lives_? Where did you hear of that book? They only ever published about ten copies, mostly because it's a load of bollocks. I'd say old Eldogas was from Yorkshire, all right, because he wasn't doing us any favours with that little volume. I think my favourite passage was when he discussed our eating habits. What was it, a preferred diet of nargles and other nesting insects?" She snorted, staring at him curiously. "I didn't reckon anyone else but my dad would bother to read that rubbish. According to my mother, he was more interested in the kitchens than the library at school, but he still reads anything about morphing that he can get his hands on." She grinned fondly. "Reckons that daughters already have the upper hand over their fathers and he needs all the help he can get with me, but he didn't think much of Smith's suggestions. I believe the words "sodding" and "tosser" were used more than once. I hope you didn't waste your time reading it."

Remus carefully added another log to the fire and sat back, dusting off his hands. He cleared his throat, briefly meeting her gaze.

"I came across a copy…some time ago, in a used bookstore. I did some research into changeling theory after I left Hogwarts, but my knowledge of Metamorphmagi was very limited. I happened to notice Smith's title on the shelves and was rather…intrigued."

Blimey. "Scholarly" was the word for it. Tonks tried to keep her amusement out of her expression, but was obviously unsuccessful as Remus gave her a slightly sheepish look in return.

"Okay, Professor," she said, following her laugh with a loud yawn. She rested her cheek against the couch cushions and knuckled at one eye. His efforts with the fireplace had prompted the flames into a more enthusiastic blaze and the heat was beginning to lull her into sleep. "And what were your thoughts?"

"My first thought was that Metamorphmagi must be admirably limber if they can really groom themselves with their feet." Remus ran an idle finger around the rim of his empty glass. He was still watching her, but she was too tired to feel awkward under his gaze. "My second was that Eldogas Smith's 'definitive monograph' was destined for a less lofty residence than my humble book collection."

"The fire?" Tonks suggested.

"I'm certainly not in favour of the Ministry's book burning policy, but in this case, I'd make an exception," he agreed, leaning back and closing his eyes.

The library was very quiet, only the occasional gentle _crack_ from the hearth and a faint gnawing sound from the bookcase breaking the silence. Tonks sleepily supposed that the latter was a bookworm and wondered if chomping down on _The Changing Lives_ would make the poor little bugger sick to its stomach.

"How was your date?" Remus asked suddenly, his voice also quiet, as if he didn't want to rouse her.

Date?

_Oh._

It had seemed to last forever, Tonks told him. The music had been awful, the drinks were watered down and the fit dishwasher had a laugh like a hippogriff with a bronchial condition. Then she realised that her eyes were closed and she hadn't managed one word of that debrief aloud.

"It was fine," she mumbled, and mentally grimaced.

Did people ever say "fine" and really mean _fine_? In her experience, it was the polite way of saying everything from "It was bloody awful, thanks," to "Does it look like I want to discuss it, you insensitive git?" In this case, "It was fine," could equally be substituted with, "It was so boring that I considered hitting myself over the head with a stale breadstick".

It hadn't been the dishwasher's fault, not entirely. He was obviously used to female attention and Tonks could only suppose that his other girlfriends had been so smitten with an admittedly impressive physique that they were prepared to overlook the total lack of any sense of humour. It turned out that they had sod all in common, which was surprising because on the surface they looked a perfect pair. He did share her love of unconventional hair colours and to his credit had displayed neither dismay nor perverted pleasure at her revelation that she was a Metamorphmagus. Most men were unable to hide a gleam of anticipation and some of them came right out and asked for a demonstration, helpfully suggesting her breasts as an example. Tonight's date, however, had commented that it must be "dead useful" not to have to buy hair potions, before continuing with the very long and not particularly interesting story of why he had fixed upon blue for his own locks. She had done her best to give a damn, but had honestly been more fascinated by the discovery of a hole in her tights. He had finally remembered to ask her a question about herself and had seemed impressed by her stories of Auror training, but the job that he obviously considered dangerous and sexy was currently both frightening and totally exhausting and the little energy that she'd retained after his hair colour monologue had not survived the subsequent description of his afternoon band practice. What kind of name was 'The Hard Knuts' for a group, anyway?

As any coherent thoughts began to drift away and she snuggled further back into the couch, Tonks sighed irritably. In just that morning's letter, her mum had made reference to her lack of tolerance – pot and kettle, anyone? – and it was irritating that she could be right. She didn't help her dismal love life by writing off every bloke after one date, even if they had literally almost put her to sleep. In the unlikely event that he followed up with an owl, she probably ought to give it another chance.

"You're going out again, then?" Remus asked casually, unconsciously mirroring her thoughts but sounding even less interested in the prospect of a second date than she was.

"Dunno," Tonks replied, her voice thick with impending sleep. "Might not ask, might he? Didn't seem too impressed when I practically snored over the cocktails."

She heard him chuckle softly. Just before she fell into a disappointing dream about eating rock-cakes with Hagrid, rather than snogging her way through the Weird Sisters, she also thought she heard him say "Good", and went to sleep with a puzzled crease between her brows.

She woke the next morning the way she usually did: comfortable, crabby and running late. The library was still dimly lit, but bright enough to reveal the deteriorated fittings and disturbing artworks that the dark of night cloaked so comfortingly. As she waved her wand at the closed drapes, cast a cursory look out the window as they flopped unenthusiastically open and cursed at the sight of the sun, already high in the sky, she noticed a plate of toast and a mug of tea under a warming charm on the coffee table. A _pink_ mug of tea. She smiled.

When she stumbled out into the hall, cramming a last soldier of toast into her mouth and wondering if she had time to change or if she'd have to shower at work, she almost bumped into Sirius, who had just treaded heavily down the stairs and appeared to be in a filthy temper. He scowled at her through bleary eyes and stubble, looking as if he'd walked straight off the 'Wanted' posters that were still plastered on every street corner from Azkaban to Aberdeen.

"Wotcher, coz," Tonks said loudly, grinning through the residual nausea of her own lack of sleep and alcohol-fuelled evening. "Must have been a hard fifty minutes on the tiles last night."

Sirius, his expression blacker than ever, opened his mouth to reply.

"Morning, dear!" The cheerful tones were momentarily startling, until she realised that they hadn't come from the unappealing spectacle before her. Molly was standing at the top of the stairs, tying a neat bow in the belt of her dressing gown and alternating fond maternal smiles at Tonks with disapproving puckered lips at Sirius.

"G'morning, Molly," Tonks called up to her, starting to laugh.

Remus had been right. Judging by the truculent look on her cousin's face, Molly did a truly inspiring lecture on the evils of drink.

Waving, the older woman trundled off in the direction of the bathroom, as a sneering Sirius watched her go.

"Just because Arthur's bloody henpecked doesn't mean she needs to stick her beak into everyone else's business," he muttered, although Tonks was amused to notice that he kept his voice well down.

For his smirks and complaints, big bad Sirius Black was well scared of Molly Weasley and her mothering ways. Tonks agreed that the coddling could get a bit much at times, but reckoned that he ought to be especially grateful for it. Her relationship with her own mother was strained enough that she could appreciate handmade jumpers at Christmas and baked goods when Molly felt that she was looking overworked and peaky. Walburga Black had been such a total bitch that Sirius ought to have no end of respect for Molly. She poked him sharply in the chest with her wand.

"Oy. You're talking about a woman who can simultaneously cook a roast, knit nine woolly jumpers, tell off Severus Snape and make Bill Weasley stammer like a schoolboy. A role model to us all, I reckon."

Sirius snorted, pushing her hand away, but maintaining a hold on her wrist. As it sometimes did, his attention had shifted with disconcerting speed to focus on her, his previous complaint forgotten. His bloodshot eyes bored into her own, as if he were attempting Legilimency.

_He wasn't, was he? _

Shifting irritably, Tonks glared back at him.

"What?" she asked frostily. "I'm going to be late for work."

"Have you seen Remus since you got up this morning?" Sirius asked her, his voice dripping with suspicion. One winged black brow quirked upward. "Spoken to him? Smiled at him? That would probably do it, the moony git."

"What are you on about?" Tonks snapped. She had enough of a hangover to have no patience with the after-effects of Sirius's cooking sherry binge. And she wasn't sure whose breath smelled like the bottom of Buckbeak's feeding trough, but they could both do with a string-mint or five. "I'm late. Move it, mate."

"Ah. You're being cagey," her cousin said triumphantly, and she rolled her eyes.

"And you've apparently gone nutters, but I don't have time to do anything about it right now."

"So you have seen Remus today?" he persisted, his grip still a manacle about her wrist.

"No, I have not seen or spoken to Remus since I woke up," Tonks countered truthfully, frowning when his face fell into comical lines of consternation. "Why? Is he all right?" she asked with sudden concern. "He's not sick or something?"

"No," said Sirius bluntly. "He is _not_ sick. He's bloody well _whistling_."


	2. Part II

A week later, they reached the end of the surveillance roster and Tonks was due to move back into her flat the following morning, when she accepted a second date with the dishwasher from the Hog's Head. She did so without any enthusiasm at all and only because her mother had smiled in a particularly annoying, knowing way when she'd confessed that her most recent date had been less than brilliant. She usually knew better than to confide in Andromeda about her love life, but had been caught at a weak moment when her dad had pinched two of her pawns in their game of chess, the sodding cheat.

As she had a miraculous two days off from the Ministry and no Order meeting through which she'd have to prop her eyes open, Tonks had assumed that a second date could only be an improvement on the snooze-fest of the first. She had assumed incorrectly.

Things had begun badly when she'd stupidly gone to give Buckbeak his dinner while wearing her best date clothes and, even more stupidly, had forgotten to bow upon entering the room. She should probably count herself lucky that the hippogriff seemed to quite fancy her and had reacted in a relatively restrained manner, tossing a bucket of meat pieces back in her face and shredding her best top rather than her skin. Nevertheless, the silky shirt had cost a mint and was useful for both eating out and debriefs with Scrimgeour, so she felt justified in being a touch pissed off about its destruction. She was hopeless with haberdashery spells and Molly and her useful wand arm were nowhere to be found. Since she hadn't bothered to sort her laundry in over week, either, she'd been forced to borrow a dress from Emmeline Vance, who had surprisingly good taste but depressingly slender hips. It was difficult to maintain a body morph for an extended period of time and Tonks disliked doing it, anyway, so she'd squeezed herself into the garment and buttoned a jacket over the top. They were having dinner at the Three Broomsticks, which was notoriously cold, so with any luck she'd be able to keep the extra layer of clothing.

It had also come in handy as she was leaving the house and became caught up in a distinctly chilly exchange with her cousin. Sirius and Remus had been in the hallway, trying to detach a horrible history painting of a house elf execution from the wall, and had offered her a pint and an equal share of Molly's lemon meringue pie for her tea. Remus had raised his eyebrows slightly at the mention of her dinner plans and she flushed as she recalled informing him that a second round was an unlikely prospect. He hadn't said much, seemingly intent upon a series of impressive spells that were doing little to remove the monstrosity from its mounting. Sirius, on the other hand, had looked as if he'd rather use his wand to poke her in the eye.

And that had been the highlight of the evening. The lowest point, she reckoned, being the moment she had got up from the table at the Three Broomsticks to find the loo and had accidentally tripped over an intoxicated regular. The man had lost his wand in their graceless tumble to the ground but had managed to tear a strip from Tonks's borrowed dress and use his fists to vent his befuddled outrage on her dinner companion. The drunk had ended up unconscious, her date sporting a bloody nose and a fat lip, and Tonks had destroyed any lingering hope of repairing Emmeline's favourite frock by elbowing a glass of wine into her lap. All of which would have been forgiven by her blue-haired friend if she hadn't managed, in the process of apologizing and trying to perform an _Episkey_ on his broken nose, to step on one of his prized drum sticks. The death knell on their pitiful relationship had come in the form of the _crack_ of a shoddy stick of wood, once belonging, he claimed, to the lead drummer of the Hobgoblins. Tonks didn't think even Stubby Boardman would have fitted his band out with Nargle-pitted drum sticks, but that observation had not gone down well.

She had left him sitting on the dirty floor of the pub, weeping actual tears over the faint mark left by Madam Rosmerta's efficient _reparo_ on his prized possession. His final remark that the Auror Department ought to keep her on a leash and it was no wonder there were Death Eaters running rampant with professionals like Tonks on the loose had killed any remorse or regret that she might have felt. She had stomped to the nearest Floo portal, whirled through the return journey to a grocery near King's Cross and hurried the rest of the way home to number twelve. It was raining by the time she let herself into the house, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She was too angry.

No, she wasn't.

She sighed. Humiliated was the word. How many witches couldn't manage to get through a simple dinner without doing bodily harm and destroying the property of everyone around them?

Tugging at the buttons of her sopping coat with one hand, Tonks hauled it off and slung it across the troll's foot umbrella stand.

"Well, that was a bloody fantastic evening," she informed her nemesis. She looked down at the shredded remains of the dress and groaned, running the loose flap between her fingers. Emmeline was too much of a lady to throw out a hex or two when she saw the damage. Tonks hoped.

At the sound of footsteps, she looked up in time to see Sirius emerge from the kitchen stairway, a bottle of beer in each hand and a packet of crisps clasped between his teeth. He stopped short in surprise at the sight of her and reached up to hook a finger around the crisps.

"It's only half past eight," he said blankly, glancing at the pocket watch at his waist. He grinned at her, slightly unpleasantly. "Shagged you and ran, did he?"

Sirius had been in a vile mood since his birthday three days earlier. Remus had done his best to provide sufficient company and entertainment, but he was obviously chafing under the necessary restrictions that kept him confined to the house and its musty contents. Nobody blamed him, but his temper wasn't making things any easier. She ignored him, concentrating on the dress and wondering if it would be worth taking it to the Burrow and throwing herself on Molly's mercy.

Sirius leaned a negligent hip against the umbrella stand. The umbrella stand which had a habit of toppling to the ground the moment that she passed in its presence, but, of course, Tonks noted bitterly, didn't so much as wobble at his reckless action.

"Bloody hell," he said in a different voice, an _amused_ voice, noting her disheveled appearance for the first time. "What did you do to the poor bloke?"

Feeling her cheeks heat with colour, Tonks tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and counted to ten. Fifteen. Twenty. She was up to thirty-three and still seething when a quieter tread sounded on the stairs and Remus came into view.

"Sirius, where are the…" He broke off when he saw her, looking slightly appalled. "Tonks? What on earth…"

All of a sudden, her anger vanished completely, leaving her feeling alone and small with her embarrassment.

"I…" She had nothing to say. To her absolute horror, a burning sensation prickled at the back of her eyes. Bollocks to that! She'd gritted her teeth through enough suturing charms and Skele-Gro potions over the years. She was not going to cry over a bad date in front of Remus Lupin.

"Are you hurt?" Remus asked, coming to stand within feet of her. His hand hovered between them, surprisingly large and capable-looking with slender fingers, but he didn't touch her, a fact that somehow made Tonks feel worse. He took in the state of her clothes with one glance. She was surprised to see the flush of anger rising in his cheeks and suddenly realised how it might look, if she were any other woman. But obviously, in her case, no one would jump to the first conclusion that…

"This bloke who took you out to dinner," Remus said tightly. "He didn't… Did he?"

Merlin. He _did _think that… A tentative smile curled the edges of Tonks's mouth, quickly turning into a scowl at Sirius's abrupt snort.

"Of course he didn't. He'd have got a short, sharp kick in the family jewels for his trouble," he said, obnoxiously and correctly. "I don't think it's my fair cousin's welfare that we need worry about, mate. What happened, coz? The old elbow in the face while you were pouring a glass of wine?"

Once. She had done that to Sirius _once_.

"No," she said defensively, before wincing. There was no point in trying to bluff it out, not when the whole scene had played out in front of Rosmerta's locals and a good portion of the Ministry wage-slaves. "I got him involved in a bar brawl and then accidentally snapped his drum stick in half."

Sirius choked on a mouthful of beer. It was several moments before he caught his breath and stared at her in revulsion.

"You did what?" he asked, using the sleeve of his black shirt to wipe his chin clean. "Please tell me that's not a bloody euphemism."

It was far too soon for any part of the evening to have a funny side, but Tonks couldn't help smiling.

"He had a close call on that one, too," she said, remembering their parting words. "If I'd stayed any longer, I'd have really given the git something to cry about."

The burst of bravado lasted only a few seconds, before the feel of torn fabric brushing her arm brought her swiftly back to reality.

"I can't give this dress back to Emmeline the way it is." She bit her lip. "Maybe I should have a go with a sewing spell. Mum did once give me a book on household spells and I reckon it can't be that hard," she said doubtfully, the sickening feeling in her stomach reflected in the hesitant statement.

Remus rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

"Tonks, I'm not sure that would be…" he began, before intercepting an oddly disapproving glare from Sirius. He paused, frowned at his friend and asked diplomatically, "Have you ever used the book?"

"Well, it's been dead useful propping up my coffee table," she offered, grimacing. "Does wonders for the wonky leg."

"Yes." Remus cleared his throat. "Perhaps it would be wise to consult Molly before you do anything…rash."

Sirius lifted his bottle of beer to the light, examining the dregs with studied care.

"That's not very supportive, mate," he said lightly. "Rule of thumb, you know. Call them pretty and perfect, and you might be in luck. Point out their faults and you'll never get a… _Shite_!" He raised his forearm to his mouth and sucked at the streak of blood that had appeared on the rough skin. Glaring ferociously at Remus, who was calmly tucking his wand back into his pocket, he jerked his head toward Tonks. "You could at least be a gentleman and offer to fix it for her, you hopeless prat."

Tonks's fascinated gaze switched back to Remus, who pointedly raised an elbow and gestured at the badly darned patches on his coat.

"Does it look like I've spent the last few years polishing up on my needlework?" he asked tightly. "But if you'd like to peruse the household manuals in the library, _mate_, don't let us keep you."

She was beginning to feel like the intruder in the room, as a silent conversation was clearly taking place between the two men. Usually it would rile her no end, being left out of things, but Sirius was obviously drunker than he looked and she didn't feel like coaxing him out of a mood. She was in serious danger of feeling sorry for herself and could see only one way out.

She was just going to have to eat Molly's entire lemon meringue pie.

"Look on the bright side," Sirius said suddenly, interrupting her plans for an impressive display of gluttony, and she jumped. Their attention had returned to her predicament. "At least the dress fits around your middle now."

_Forget the pie._

Tonks wondered if it would make her feel better to hex him first or just shove her wand up his…

"I'll just get started on that research, shall I?" Sirius said hastily, obviously reading her mind.

Although the hand gesture had perhaps also been a bit of a clue.

"The library is that way," Remus told him dryly, as he started back down the stairs toward the kitchen, and he waved a casual hand over his shoulder.

"I'll just grab a few more beers for the road. Can't read on an empty stomach."

He disappeared, whistling, and Tonks grunted crossly. As if Sirius was in a position to criticize her looks, when he hadn't been near a comb for days and, frankly, nobody but Kreacher appreciated the scent of stale whisky and cheap Spanish cigars. She'd caught both her cousin and the house elf nicking them from Mundungus's digs on the third floor, a sign, she'd informed Sirius at the time, of questionable mental health and bloody poor taste.

Remus glanced over at her and she wrapped a defensive arm across her exposed belly. He looked rather ill at ease and peaky, as if he hadn't slept well. Her gaze flickered to the calendar on the wall, an incongruous Muggle mock-up, emblazoned with a cheerful print of a bluebell field that looked about as fitting in Grimmauld Place as her purple knee-highs. She winced. It was only a week until the full moon and she was a selfish cow. She and Remus had bantered their way through a game of chess and a cup of tea every night that week and she was starting to feel comfortable in considering him a proper mate. But proper mates would recognize when their friends were feeling under the weather, wouldn't they? They wouldn't keep them standing in a cold hallway, nattering on about a bad date and a ruined dress.

"You look tired. You need to go to bed earlier, stop letting Sirius drag you down into the bottle with him," she said bluntly, and then flushed. Who was she supposed to be now? His mother?

_Nice one, Tonks_. _He's a grown man, for Merlin's sake. Are you going to offer to tuck him into bed, too?_

She could feel the heat in her cheeks spreading down her neck. It felt like she was blushing all through her midsection and she was relieved when he checked his surprise at her embarrassing command and smiled briefly.

"I'm sure it's not very gentlemanly to point this out, Nymphadora," he said, and Tonks wrinkled her nose in warning. "But you look as if a decent eight hours wouldn't go astray, yourself. I'm sure that Molly would be only too happy to give you a hand with the dress tomorrow." He managed to pull a sympathetic expression that somehow avoided being patronizing, so she let it slide. "And they do say that things always look brighter in the morning, don't they?"

Tonks snorted, reaching down to tug at her slipping socks.

"'Course, 'they' obviously never woke up with a raging hangover," she retorted, gathering her rain-tangled hair into a ponytail and wondering why she was fidgeting so much. She purposely folded her arms across her chest, which had the added benefit of hiding the strip of purple lace bra she had just discovered was peeking out from the ruined bodice of the dress. "I can't go to bed yet. It's too early and I'll just end up lying there for hours, tossing and turning until the moment I realise that my mother was right again. At which point, I'll probably end up in the kitchen with Sirius, trying to drown my self-pity in a bowl of whisky, and the morning will seem so bright that I'll need a pair of sunglasses and a Hagrid-sized portion of Arthur's home remedy."

She paused for breath and Remus smoothed out his smile with his hand. He rubbed his fingers against the sharp line of his jaw, where Tonks could just make out the appearance of stubble, and contemplated her in silence.

She uncrossed her arms and pulled at her sock again.

"What was your mother right about?" he asked finally. Without removing his gaze from hers, he walked over to the top of the kitchen stairwell, crouched down on his haunches and picked up a pink string from the wood floor. Before Tonks's astonished eyes, he said a very calm and very loud "Sod off," into the curved end of the string, tied a neat knot in its length and tossed the thwarted Extendable Ear set back to the ground. He nudged it aside with a worn shoe and they both listened as it skittered back down the steps, presumably returning to the kitchen.

"She didn't approve of your…boyfriend?" Remus asked her, as he stood up and brushed off his palms, and she blinked, shutting her mouth with a snap and trying to snatch up her scattered wits. The whole evening was turning a bit surreal.

"He was hardly my boyfriend," she managed, wondering why she was speaking to Remus Lupin, of all people, in sentences that were so embarrassingly adolescent she wouldn't write them in a damn journal. "It was only a second date. We went out once because it seemed like we should have loads in common." She grimaced. "We didn't, and we only went out again because I let my mother goad me into it with her usual complaints about my fecklessness and inability to commit to anything." Honesty compelled her to add, "She's right, I reckon, and I love her to bits, really, but I don't need to hear a listing of my faults every bloody week."

"You were already committed to a very difficult job when you took on the added responsibility of the Order." Remus shook his head. "I would never call you feckless, Tonks." His smile returned, cranked up a notch. "Headstrong, certainly, and alarmingly impulsive on occasion, but never feckless."

"Don't worry," Tonks said, unable to keep back a grin. "Headstrong and impulsive are on Mum's list, as well. Right above 'frivolous' and 'impractical'." She made a clumsy attempt at tucking the torn strap back into the neckline of the dress and her expression turned rueful. "Can't argue with that last one."

"I'm sorry that you had such a disappointing evening," Remus said, sounding completely sincere in contrast to Sirius's earlier hoots of unsurprised laughter, which reminded Tonks that she would have to have a few words with that nosy bugger in the morning.

"Yeah, well," she said in brief response, shrugging. She didn't much fancy flogging that particular horse all night. Lingering resentment toward her mother had combined with a pretty traumatic week at work and she liked to think that exhaustion was responsible for the sulky half hour in which she'd just indulged. A bad date hadn't been the best way to end an altogether shite week, it was true, but she usually would have forced herself to laugh it off and followed through on her instincts to hex the prat. She hated her clumsiness, but frankly, if she sank into total depression every time she embarrassed herself in public, she'd have gone nutters and taken up residence with Moaning Myrtle long ago.

Groaning, Tonks raised her arms and stretched, letting one forearm fall to rest on her tilted head. She glanced around the dim entrance hall, taking in the peeling wall coverings and the brass fittings that shone after Molly's determined ministrations. A spot of polish had only highlighted their grotesque shapes and carved details. There appeared to be a slight draught, as the door to the old bathroom under the stairs was banging with irritating regularity, but she caught a flicker of movement and realised that the ghoul from the upstairs loo must have caught on to the fact that everyone was avoiding his usual haunt. _Brilliant._ She'd have to warn the others to keep their wands handy.

"Do you know, even when Sirius has been a total git, I do feel for him," she said slowly. "I've never experienced anything quite like this place. It's like even the damp in the walls is oozing evil." She hunched her shoulder in an apologetic half-shrug. "I know it's bad for you, too, having to live here for months on end, but at least we can leave. Even after a bloody awful week, it would be stupid to go back outside and wander around London in the dark and the rain, but I could do it, if I wanted. He must be going mad. I've only been home for twenty minutes and I already feel like I'm suffocating in here."

Remus was staring at the spot where the Extendable Ear set had previously rested, his face troubled. More lines of tiredness seemed to have appeared at the edges of his eyes and mouth, drawing his features together in a picture of worry.

Tonks acted instinctively, reaching out to touch his arm. He started, looking down at her pale hand against the rough tweed of his coat, and flicked an intent glance up at her face. Her breath momentarily hitched and she slowly withdrew her fingers. They curled into a light fist at her side.

Remus cleared his throat, taking a step back.

"He's gone from one prison into another," he agreed, his voice slightly husky. "Grimmauld Place may not have Dementors, but there is a plentiful supply of bad memories here for Sirius." His mouth twisted in a semblance of a smile. "Not to mention the ghoul in the loo. There are only three factors, I think, that are making this time at all tolerable for him and if any one of them was in danger of being taken away, I honestly believe that he'd be out that door, damning the consequences. He's here because he's made the decision to grit his teeth and stick it out, not because anyone is forcing him to stay. Sirius has never been at his best with authority."

"By 'three factors', you mean yourself, Harry and firewhisky, I suppose?" Tonks asked, frowning.

Remus gave a short laugh.

"Alcohol, certainly. I don't think any of Molly's disapproving looks or frightening anecdotes are going to part Sirius from his bottles in the near future. Harry is the main consideration, of course. The hope of Harry, I suppose you might say. Sirius sees a day when he'll be able to have the relationship with James's son that the two of them always planned. It keeps him focused, to as great an extent as anything is going to. He deserves that future. Harry too." He moved restlessly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "I wasn't including myself in that statement. I can't argue that I need to be here and that Sirius needs the company. But it's a constant reminder… We'll always be family, but it will never be the same. James was the original link and when he was gone, we proved woefully inadequate at forging a new one…" He trailed off and flushed. "Sorry. You're quite right, there is something about this house that brings out the worst in people. Before that lamentable display of self-pity, I was actually referring to the garden on the roof."

"It's not self-pity, Remus," Tonks said firmly, "And I want to hear…" She looked at his uncompromising expression and sighed, telling him threateningly, "I'll wait until the next time you're keeping Sirius and his bottles company, then."

Then she frowned, successfully diverted from an obviously painful subject.

"What garden on the roof?"

* * *

With the night air cool on her skin and a light breeze stirring her hair, Tonks gazed out at the lights and fog of London. Church bells were ringing somewhere on the horizon and she could hear a distant foghorn in the direction of the Thames. Although it had stopped raining since she'd arrived home, it was cold and she wrapped the edges of her coat, dry and warm after a short demonstration of Remus's skills at wandless magic, tighter across her midriff. The hint of frost in the sky was like a hit of adrenaline after the oppressiveness indoors. Turning, she smiled at Remus, who stood by the trapdoor to the attic. His hair was ruffled across his forehead and his cheeks were ruddy with cold, but he looked similarly at ease.

"How did I not know about this before?" she demanded, twirling in a slightly giddy circle and gazing around at the wholly unexpected, entirely delightful oasis of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Tonks's grunts and put-upon sighs as Remus had led the way through the untidy, hazardous obstacles of the attic had faded as soon as she had reached the top step of the hideaway ladder in the ceiling. For ensconced on the ramshackle, dirty roof of Sirius's ramshackle, dirty house was the quaintest, loveliest garden that Tonks had seen since her last visit to the Burrow. Protected by a pillared stone canopy and, according to Remus, a host of powerful concealment charms, a small paved courtyard was surrounded by a short sweep of green lawn and a tangled profusion of rose bushes and daisy plants. The faint babble and splash of water had alerted Tonks to the presence of the tiny fountain, hidden in a short embankment of rock.

The view across the city was spectacular. The view of the night sky, she discovered when she clambered eagerly onto the largest of the rocks, was breath-taking. As she tilted her head back, ignoring the pain in her neck and the grazes on her palms when she slipped and almost fell from her precarious perch, she let out her breath in a silent whistle. For once, she could appreciate the Black family's snotty insistence on having only the best of everything. Rather ironically and clearly due to an enchantment more powerful than she had ever even read about, no dark clouds hovered over Grimmauld Place. Instead, a circle of clear sky, a celestial skylight, offered an unimpeded view of the stars. Stars that she had almost forgotten still hung over London, so long it had been since she'd seen them.

"Sirius would have showed you eventually, I expect," Remus said, sitting down more cautiously on the rock beside her. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Tonks dragged her attention from the sky for moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest under his own coat and scarf. "He just got in the habit of keeping quiet about it when the Order first began meeting here. Said, and I quote, 'Hestia would pick all the flowers, Molly would plan a tea party, Dung would piss in the fountain and Snivellus would poison the only half-decent corner of this rotting heap'. This was the only place that he could come when he was younger."

"Somehow I can't imagine him sitting up here star-gazing," Tonks mumbled, fully engrossed in just that activity. "Even if he does have the name for it."

"I should think he came up here to swear and smoke," Remus agreed, and laughed suddenly. "He once told me that he would have brought girls up here, if he'd been able to stick it at home for longer and if his mother hadn't sent them shrieking for the front door. Reckoned it would be the only spot in the house that had seen so much as a kiss for centuries."

His words were followed by a slightly awkward silence and Tonks felt herself blushing. For a lack of anything better to do, she wriggled around, trying to get comfortable, and they both frowned at a sudden crackling sound.

"Oh," said Tonks, a bit blankly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a crumpled foil packet. She shrugged, looking at Remus sheepishly. "Leftovers from the pub. The rest of the night was so awful that I reckoned I ought to get something out of it." Peeling back the foil, she peered at the food within. "Want a chip? They're not too squashed."

The night, she decided as they ate in silence, sharing a snack of reheated chips and cheese tarts in a secret garden on the roof of number twelve, had gone from being awful to being totally bizarre.

And she couldn't deny that she was enjoying it.

Remus appeared to be looking at something over her shoulder. She was about to turn to see what it was, when he said, "There's a stripe of brown in your hair tonight."

_Oh, bugger._

Putting down the half-eaten chip in her hand, Tonks groped for her hair, pulling it forward over her shoulder. Sure enough, growing over her left ear was a fat streak of horrid mouse brown.

"It happens sometimes," she admitted, tugging crossly at the offending lock. "Usually not so obviously, thank Merlin."

With a spark of amusement, she saw that Remus had temporarily lost interest in the food and was wearing his Professor Face of scholarly interest. He leaned forward to examine the hint of her natural looks with fascination.

"You start to lose a morph, you mean?" he asked, before looking at her with some concern. "Are your abilities connected with your emotions?"

Tonks glared at him, profoundly frustrated at hearing a widely popular piece of absolute drivel about Metamorphmagi from the lips of someone whom she…respected.

"You mean, am I so depressed that I can't hold onto a bloke that even my hair goes out in sympathy?" she asked sarcastically. "No, again that would be one of Eldogas Smith's bright ideas and since you didn't seem to buy into the insect-scoffing theory, you can write that one off as a load of bunk, as well. It's hard," she explained shortly. "I can't just morph at the blink of an eye and go merrily on my way. It drains a lot of energy and sometimes if I get really stressed and tired, it starts to slip. This hasn't been the easiest week at work since the Death Eater attack in Brighton on Monday." She bit her lip. "But I'd appreciate it if you'd keep that to yourself, because I don't reckon that Scrimgeour and Dumbledore would be chuffed to learn that I could potentially lose a morph if a situation went belly up."

Remus reached out and touched one fingertip to her hair, barely stirring the loathed streak of brown. It was the first time that he'd ever touched her. The thought popped into her head and she dug her teeth into her lower lip. _Stupid._ She couldn't even feel it and it was just Remus and she was just Tonks, so who cared?

"I didn't mean to offend you, Tonks," he said quietly, looking at her seriously. His hand slowly returned to his lap and she tried to stop staring at it, at his neat fingers and large palm and the scattering of hairs on his wrist. "And I hope you know by now that I would never betray your confidence, but if there's one thing that you don't need to worry about, it's your capability at your job. Rufus Scrimgeour is notoriously picky about his recruits and he would never have passed you into the Auror programme on the basis of one facet of your identity. I know for a fact that Albus's faith in you has absolutely nothing to do with those cheerful heads of hair and alarming pig snouts." She couldn't help smiling. "I think you'll find that his knowledge of Metamorphmagi far surpasses what little can be found in Smith's questionable publication and that he already knows about the technicalities of morphing. Has he ever given you reason to believe that he has doubts about you?"

"No," said Tonks, and it was the truth. "He hasn't."

There didn't seem a need for many words between them after that. Minutes ran into hours as they sat there, lounging on the rocks, breathing in the scent of roses and fresh air, and feeling small under the porthole of stars. When the cold air became uncomfortable rather than refreshing, they cast a joint warming charm that was so effective Tonks was tempted to remove her coat. The memory of exposed purple lace kept her covered up. She managed to transfigure a rather lumpy cushion, which she tucked behind her head when the pangs in her neck warned of retribution in the morning. Triumphantly identifying Venus in the sky, she ignored Remus's pained correction and continued to think of the star as her favourite planet. When she complained that she couldn't make out any of the constellations he was able to reel off like a bloody astronomy textbook, he placed his hand over hers and showed her how to draw a line between the stars with her wand, as if she were writing with a Muggle sparkler on Bonfire Night. His warm breath fanned her cheek and she shivered, her fingers continually slipping and fudging the spell. He was patient and kind, and she thought once again of what a brilliant teacher he must have been and how sodding unfair everything was.

As they sat listening to the silence, after the twelfth chime of a church bell tower had drifted into the night, Tonks discovered a bar of Honeydukes Classic in her other pocket and Remus laughed, informed her that she was a useful person to have around and asked her if she was hoarding a cup of tea in each sock, by any chance? She poked her tongue out at him and passed over half of the chocolate.

Swallowing down the last of her share, she stood up and gazed up at the edge of the clouds, where she could see a peek of the waxing moon. She frowned at it.

"Tonks?" She could hear the smile in Remus's voice. She turned questioning eyes on him. "While I'm quite convinced that you could pull off any change to your appearance, I suspect that a chocolate mustache wasn't your intention."

Blushing furiously, Tonks rolled her eyes at herself and scrubbed the back of her hand across her mouth.

"Oh, ta. I'm such a pig, honestly," she said, with an embarrassed laugh. "My Patronus Charm probably isn't much of a surprise to anyone. I remember when my mother came to collect me on the last day of school…I was in a right strop about it, because I wanted one more ride on the Express…and I'd just managed to cast my first Patronus. My dad was dead excited and all my mum could say was "A pig? A pig!", over and over again. Her Patronus is a bloody swan, of course. Dumbledore told her that it was very apt, that pigs are noble animals, indicating honesty and loyalty, and all that malarkey. She just gave this big snort, which was the most unladylike thing I think she's ever done in public and makes her a bit of hypocrite, really…"

Her voice trailed off and her hand slowly drifted away from her face when she realised that Remus was blatantly not listening.

He was instead staring at her mouth.

Tonks let out her breath in a rushing _huff _of air and forgot to take another one. An unfortunate oversight, given that a moment later his lips descended on hers and the world stopped and a hit of oxygen might have kept her head from spinning somewhere up near the star that she still thought was Venus. That barely rational thought was all she was able to manage while his nose was pressed against hers and the stubble on his chin was rough against her face. When he opened his mouth and she recovered enough to kiss him back, she was no longer capable of thinking anything at all. It wasn't until much later that she realised he had kept his hands at his sides, only their lips in contact until she had literally entwined herself about him, fisting her fingers in his hair and pressing her body into his. Only then had he reached for her and held on tightly, one arm sliding around her waist and the other hand palming her jaw, as if her enthusiastic response to the snog had not been enough to convince him of her willingness.

She had no idea how much time passed before their lips came apart with an audible _pop_ and her senses, if not her comprehension, began to return. Listening to the trickle of the fountain and the hushed sounds of their breathing, Tonks kept a loose hold on Remus's arms as she stood there, her hips still wedged against his belly. She forced her eyes to remain open, but couldn't pull her gaze away from a loose thread on his shoulder. She could feel his chin stirring the hairs above her ear, but was too astonished and too bloody scared to look up at him.

_Merlin Almighty._

On the scale of surreal, the night had just gone off the charts.

She had just shared the best snog of her life with Remus Lupin. Remus, one of the most intelligent and powerful wizards that she had ever met, the man Dumbledore himself had described as the ally he would always choose to stand at his right hand. Remus, the man who just last week had irritated her down to her toes at the Order meeting. The man she was loath to admit she had – possibly – fancied for ages. Possibly since the second time they'd met and she had sufficiently recovered from her nerves and fascination over her cousin to notice that he had very nice eyes. Unexpectedly, fantastically, Remus Lupin had kissed her. And she wanted another one.

Seizing the moment, she reached up, grabbed his tie and dove happily back into sensation. After an initial second of shocked stillness, he wrapped his hands about her head, supporting her neck as he forcefully kissed her back.

_Oh, my._

She slowly pulled back from him, far enough that she was forced to summon her courage and meet his eyes, which were dark and glazed, but still so close that her lips brushed his as she spoke.

Or rather, gargled. There was no other word for the noise that came out of her mouth while she racked her brain for something intelligent or at least _intelligible_ to say.

"Nice," was, rather embarrassingly, all that she manage.

Remus gave a choked laugh and leaned his forehead against hers. The pads of his fingers softly stroked the lines of her ears and throat.

"Yes, it was rather," he murmured through thickened tones. He nuzzled at her temple, breathing in the scent of her hair, and she wondered vaguely when she had last washed it.

That mood-killing thought gave her back enough presence of mind to straighten away from the tempting warmth of his lean body and take a deep breath. She reached up and twisted her hands into his, bringing them down to rest between their bodies.

"If that was a sympathetic gesture because I've had a rough night, or a drunken impulse that you're going to regret in the morning, I'd rather that you tell me now," she told him bluntly and ignored his startled reaction. "Because I tend to be a bit thick about these things and if you start ducking around corners and hiding in cupboards when you see me coming, I may end up following you in there and picking up where we left off."

Shite. She _heard_ the words coming out of her mouth, and yet… She could tell her mother to add 'cringingly forthright' to her ever-growing list of faults. On the opposite list, of qualities she was sorely lacking, sophistication was obviously right up there with grace.

Remus was looking a bit taken aback. His hands tightened their hold on hers.

"I admittedly had a drink earlier," he said calmly, watching her with veiled intensity. "But I've wanted to do that for weeks and I cannot, in all honesty, express any regret whatsoever that you didn't have a good time on your date." For the first time, he was smiling, _properly_ smiling, and it lit up his face so that Tonks could only stare in stupefied lust. "I couldn't have been more relieved if you'd impaled the bastard with his drum stick."

And in response to that statement, which she would never in a million years have expected to come out Remus's mouth, Tonks did the only thing she could possibly do. She kissed him again.

It was some time later, when they were sitting on the rocks in a rather ridiculous side-by-side position, holding hands as if they were an elderly couple on a park bench when she would rather be straddling his lap and using her hands for a more interesting purpose, that Remus asked her, with mixed disbelief and amusement, "Did you really never suspect it? Sirius has been so blatantly outspoken about my reluctance to approach you that there were several times each day when I could have throttled him with his damn Extendable Ear set."

Tonks couldn't help giggling, before she asked, raising a pointed brow, "Your reluctance?"

Remus hesitated, glancing down at their interlocked fingers. The pause in conversation stretched into minutes and she bit her lip as the seriousness of his expression finally registered.

"I'll have to blame it on the stars, I think," he said eventually, giving her hand a comforting, apologetic squeeze. "Tonks, it wasn't supposed to matter how many jokes or derisive comments Sirius made or how many times Molly engineered to leave us alone together." She blinked in surprise at that one. "I never intended to act upon…my feelings toward you. They rather crept up on me, to begin with, and I never expected you to return them. I hoped that we would become friends, but I do see that the prospect of anything more is problematic, to say the least."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tonks's voice was overly sharp, perhaps, but sod it all! She'd already been thrown off by one bloke in the past twenty-four hours and unlike that rejection, which was becoming more forgettable with each mind-blowing kiss from Remus, this one had the potential to _hurt_.

"It means," Remus replied, with something of an edge, "that I'm an unemployed werewolf and, to be perfectly blunt, several years too old for you. If I had a shred of decency left in me, I would get up and walk away from you right now." His hold on her tightened, if anything, but she didn't mistake the bitterness in his words.

Her teeth gritted. She had only just found something brilliant, she had barely had time to reflect upon it and he was already trying to take it away. Or rather, tarnish it enough that she would be the one to chuck it away. And by implication, his claim that he was "too old" also meant that she was "too young". Few things irritated Tonks more than hints at her immaturity and preconceptions about her youth.

"You're not too old for me," she said instinctively, reacting against the statement. Then she thought about it. She thought about Remus, the man who could remain standing and expressionless while a woman dropped her tea cup and turned her back on him, the man who could shoulder responsibility for Sirius while having few resources of his own to fall back on. The same man who had, the week before, successfully pulled off a prank on the flabbergasted Weasley twins and protested his innocence with outraged indignation. Only she and Sirius had seen the sparkle of laughter in his eyes before he had retreated behind his newspaper. He was an exasperating, brilliant mix of emotionally exhausted adult and irrepressible Marauder, and she liked him so much. "You're not too old for me, Remus," she repeated, forcefully.

"Tonks, I could never afford to take you anywhere," he said quietly, reluctantly, and she knew it was difficult for him to set aside his pride and voice that fact. "Until things change, if they ever change, even a simple pub dinner would be beyond my means."

"Do I look like Glinda Goodwitch?" Tonks demanded, shaking his hand from side to side for emphasis as she named the blonde presenter from the Wireless who had recently become engaged to Cornelius Fudge. "I don't go around snogging blokes for their galleons, thank you very much. And without even knowing I was _on_ one, I just had the best date and we didn't need anything more than a clear sky and a dusty old bar of chocolate. Give me a little credit, Remus," she said seriously, and he touched his palm to her cheek.

"I've never doubted your integrity, Tonks, or your intelligence, which is why I trust that you'll understand the realities of my situation. Even if we were the same age, even if I had a full vault of gold gathering interest at Gringotts, I would still be reluctant to accept anyone into my life in a significant role. The lycanthropy is not an obstacle that can be overcome with blind optimism and a dusty bar of chocolate."

"Just a clear sky?" Tonks suggested, before she could help herself. She covered her mouth with her hand, appalled. "Sorry! I'm sorry, Remus, of course I understand your concerns and I don't want to make light of them."

_Bloody hell, Tonks_.

She couldn't go two seconds without proving him right and glossing over the worst part of his existence with a smart-arse remark. Risking a peek at his face, she expected him to look angry or resigned and was surprised to notice the slight twitch of his lips.

"Tonks…" When he spoke her name, however, his voice was heavy.

"Remus." She let go of his hand and gripped both of his forearms, suddenly desperate to hold onto him, to hold onto whatever this odd night brought them for as long as possible. She wasn't ready for this to be over, not yet. _Maybe not ever_, a fleeting thought that scared the hell out of her. "You can't tell me that I don't understand the dangers. I know I don't have first-hand experience of what it's like for you, but I'm an Auror, for Merlin's sake. I've worked with other werewolves. If we begin a…a relationship, I won't be going into it blind." She was suddenly cross. "We've talked about this. I knew about the lycanthropy before we even met and it never stopped me wanting to be friends with you. It never stopped me respecting you and if it's the main reason that you don't think we could be more than friends, it's not bloody well enough!"

He was watching her quietly, his eyes a storm of emotions, chiefly regret and doubt.

"I…" She trailed off, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. _Bugger it_. A handful of kisses and she was practically begging the poor bloke.

_And he could be right, couldn't he?_

She couldn't ignore the little voice in her head, the one that was trying to distance itself from the lust-crazed body still edging closer to Remus with every breath. Did she really want this? It might be brilliant. It might be the most fantastic thing that had ever happened to her. But their collective baggage would be a bloody heavy weight to carry. It wasn't too late to get out. She thought she knew Remus. She did know that he would never show disappointment in his face or let bitterness dictate his behaviour toward her were she to get up now, walk downstairs and go to bed. Somewhere, in the rational part of her mind and the pit of her stomach, she wondered if he _was_ right, if she really was being too dismissive of his doubts, if they would come to regret what had happened tonight.

And then he kissed her again. His hands were not quite steady, but his mouth was firm and sure, and she realised that it _was_ too late. It was already too late to get up and to walk away. They had already moved beyond that point, whatever Remus said or did to dissuade her.

It was strange. In spite of the constant changes to her appearance, Tonks had always considered herself a fairly steady person. Her dad was a self-confessed plodder in life, fixed in his ways and she had always thought she'd inherited that side of him. With the possible exception of his Pensieve memory, very little had ever happened to shift her way of thinking or the way that she reacted to situations. She had been magic-born, so the arrival of her Hogwarts letter, an event which fundamentally changed the life of every Muggle-born wizard and witch, had been entirely expected. The physical changes as she had moved beyond her childhood and teenage years had meant little to someone who had been able to morph wrinkles and grey hair at age six, disconcerting a steady stream of nannies and housekeepers. And at seven years old, after a chance encounter with her mother's frightening older sister, she had understood the presence of evil in the world. That day, she had known the true meaning of 'bad blood' and her decision to train for the Auror Squad had been made by the end of her first year at school. Throughout it all, even as she fumbled and stumbled though one awkward situation after another, even when she didn't particularly like herself, she had known exactly who she was.

But in the hour after midnight, under a star-dotted hole in the clouds, Tonks suddenly realised that everything she had imagined about herself and about the future that she would have had changed.

When she pulled back from Remus, the words in her head were "It will work, I know it will." What came out of her mouth, albeit firmly, was, "We can try."

He was silent.

Trying to smile, she said, only half-jokingly, "Are you sure it's not me who's the problem, Remus?" She wrinkled her nose and self-consciously tucked her hair behind her ear. "I would never in a million years have thought you'd fancy me, you know. I s'pose I would have thought you'd go for someone beautiful and…and impressive."

Remus met her gaze.

"I did," he said, matter-of-factly.

_Oh, very smooth, mate._

Tonks rolled her eyes at him. Even if she was secretly a bit chuffed.

"Someone graceful," she said pointedly.

"It surprises you that I was attracted by a kind heart and a warm smile and a big mouth rather than two steady legs?" he asked. His grin was faint, but genuine and mischievous.

"I'd tell you what I really think of that pat reply, but I reckon I've listed enough of my failings for one night." She set her jaw and looked at him challengingly. "Besides, my dad always said that you shouldn't spell out your faults for someone. It deprives them of the fun of finding out for themselves."

She had laid all of her cards on the table. It was up to him now. Although if his response was less than satisfactory, she was prepared to remind him that he _had_ made the first move and it was irresponsible not to follow through on what he had started.

He sat there for a long time, gazing out at the twinkling lights of the city. She sat as still as possible as she waited, barely breathing in her concentrated efforts not to fidget, and trying to pretend that she was a patient person.

Finally, Remus turned to face her. He picked up her hands in his, brought them to rest on his lap.

"I can't pretend that I don't have doubts, Nymphadora. But neither can I ignore that this is something I very much want to pursue." His expression was rueful. "The other occupants of this house make it rather difficult to do so. Remind me to have a private word with your cousin in the morning, will you?" He hesitated, before agreeing, as firmly as she had done, "We can try."

His eyes were wary, but their expression was warm and affectionate as he waited for her response. And, as Tonks believed they should start as they meant to go on, there was only one thing she could say, under the circumstances.

"Remus?" she said, leaning forward to touch her lips to the hollow of his throat, where his pulse beat in jumps.

"Mm?"

"Don't call me Nymphadora."


End file.
